Submitting to someone makes me feel in control.
Does that make sense?
There’s an anchor that comes with my submission. A sense of knowing that someone will catch me when I fall, pick me back up, help me, care that I’m crying and most importantly not tell me to ‘buck up’.
I need someone who is stronger, who needs to protect and guide and take control. Someone who automatically sees ways he can help me be a better me.
When I have that anchor, I feel confident enough to move in the world. I’m not swirling around, overcompensating, wrestling control from any and everyone because I’m scared of falling.
And I don’t have “normal” coping mechanisms. Not by society’s means, anyway. The only coping mechanism that’s somewhat normal is running. And even that’s not the usual. When I work out I have to be careful. If I don’t pay close attention, I do it until I hurt. The delicious pain stays with me for days on end and it reminds me of being pushed past a limit. It’s not healthy for my body in the long term. But it helps me get through.
Submission gives me that same high. I’m pushed to a limit and it gives me the same release. I can zone out. I can stop worrying. My Dom’s voice, his instructions, the routine- they all help me focus.
Without it, I’m whirling through life, overwhelmed and unable to prioritize. Everything seems urgent, needs to be done NOW. I forget to take care of myself.
My mind is racing: “Shit! I’m late for work, omg omg. I couldn’t sleep last night, maybe I need a sleeping pill?? Shit! Ok, gotta get this done by this deadline and then check in on these three projects, and returning these calls and plan meals for the week and next week and damn it is the dog up to date on her shots and oh Jesus I forgot to call our elderly friend…maybe I should send her flowers? No no, we should see her, but when can we fit that in? Is that bill paid? Gotta update the in depth financial spreadsheet I built….man, I need to finish that short story…what time is it? When did I last eat? What day is it? K, gotta rush home…WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE HAVE NOTHING TO EAT FOR DINNER? Ok, ok. Let’s run to the grocery store…yes, at 9 pm at night…because the baby can’t eat Burger King for the umpteenth time this week! Ok, she’s fed and in bed. Fuck. It’s 11 o clock. I’m exhausted. Should I eat dinner? Ugh, it’s so far away…let me just close my eyes for a few seconds…damn it, have THREE HOURS PASSED?! Oh god, not gonna be able to get back to sleep now…”
My mind is a helluva lot calmer, there’s structure to my day:
Good morning text sent to Daddy. His warm “Good morning Pet, how did you sleep?” makes me feel good. Get ready, go to work. Grab breakfast- Daddy expects me to eat well and I want to make him happy. Hunker down until lunch time and work. Send a few random texts to him about things I’m thinking about. Go to lunch with coworkers. Text Daddy again, snap pic of food for him, chat with him for a few minutes. Get back to work until it’s time for the gym. Work out, feel good about self. Go back to work, wrap up things. Head to the chaos that is home- daughter needs attention, husband needs a break, toys are everywhere, pets are demanding my time. Feel panic begin to creep in but then Daddy texts me. Let’s me know we’ll play later. I breathe out. Ok. Prepare dinner, actually eat dinner, take care of kiddo until bedtime. She’s in bed, husband’s happy on the couch gaming, I chat with Daddy. We go over our day, talk about random things. Usually he’ll make me cum once or twice to help me sleep. He knows orgasms are a great way for me to release any stress. He tucks me in right before my bed time (that he set) and I doze off. Calm. Safe.
With each passing day I feel better. Stronger. Able to take on the world. I worry that Daddy is not getting something out of this- he tells me not to worry about it…or else. I obey. I am happy.